The Sinsins
by Flagg1991
Summary: Loose sequel to The BS Life of Lemy Loud (and just as unfinished too). Now an adult, he has kids and stuff happens. Y'know, basic Flagg stuff. (REUPLOAD)
1. State of Shock

**Reupload of an old story. People wanted to see it again so here it is. It was never finished. There is, however, a bonus chapter that was never published that will appear here for the very first time.**

**This is a loose sequel to The BS Life of Lemy Loud (I know, it's still ongoing, hush) that will focus on Lemy's children. Yes, that's right, I'm going to Gen 3. Everyone thinks I'm crazy for going there, and you know what? I am.**

**Here is a handy key so you know what's what:**

**Lora (19) - Lemy x Loan daughter**

**Lydia (17) - Lemy x Liena daughter**

**Lester (16) Lincoln x Lisa son**

**Gavin (14) - Lemy x Gwen son**

**Leah (9) - Lemy x Leia daughter**

**Lean (6) - Lemy x Lizy daughter**

**AberrantScript is working on an original kid who'll appear later on, and I may add more - these are just the kids who appear in this chapter. Any others will appear in the next or not at all, I won't spring any on you fifty chapters in (not gonna be fifty chapters).**

* * *

**Lyrics to **_**My Buddy **_**by G-Unit (2003)**

Everyone has problems, some smaller than others, some larger. Gavin Michael Loud's problem at the moment was small on the surface, but look at it in the context of his life, and it was _massive_. Lanky and tall for fourteen with short brown hair styled in a bowl cut since that's all his mom could give him, Gavin didn't like many things in the world. He liked science fiction paperbacks, mathcore, and video games, the latter most of all. Pong, Super Mario Brothers, Goldeneye, Grand Theft Auto 3, Call of Duty: Black Ops - literally any game you could throw at him, though hentai games made him uncomfortable, especially if there were tentacles involved. Eeew. Lovecraft is great, sex is...fine, I guess, but Lovecraftian sex? I'd rather watch my parents. _Oh, Lemy, faster; Gwen, you feel so good._

Uh, on second thought, maybe Cthulhu Sluts 10: Eldritch Boner isn't so bad after all.

Anyway, video games were his passion, one he developed while playing them with his grandfather as a child - he loved spending time with grandpa, and video games were their special thing, just as tea parties were his and Leah's thing, and sitting quietly in the same room and staring at the wall in awkward silence was his and Lester's thing.

Oh, God, speaking of Lester…

If everyone has problems, everyone also has that one creepy relative that makes everyone uncomfortable. For the Louds, it was Lester. He was practically Gavin's brother, but biologically he was his uncle - grandpa and auntie Lisa had him pretty late in life: He was sixteen, two years older than Gavin, and they _used _to go to the same school before Lester graduated...early, of course, because he was smart like his mother. Unlike his mother, he was a weirdo and total asshole. He spent virtually every minute of every day locked in his room working on his computer at God only knew what. Gavin called him The Phantom, after the Phantom of the Opera - short with a pudgy stomach and greasy black hair that had a way of falling in his face Shemp-style, he wore sweater vests over sloppily untucked button-ups, tan slacks, and scuffed brown loafers he got either from the thrift store or out of a grave. He looked like a college professor - the kind that asks pretty girls to stay after class in a hissing, husky whisper. His worst feature (worse even than the volcanic acne studding his face) were his eyes: They were always wide and staring, fevered, _sick_, like the eyes of a guy you'd see in a book on serial killers. When they fell on you, your soul shriveled up like a puddle on a hot sidewalk, and if they lingered for more than a few seconds, you spent the rest of the day worrying he was going to pop out of his lair as you passed, drag you in, and run Mengele level experiments on you.

Everyone called him Uncle Fester behind his back, and he _hated _it - one time he walked into the dining room while Lora was talking shit about him and caught "...Fester's fat ass." Flashing, he threw down a stack of science books he was carrying (startling everyone), spun on his heels, and stalked out with his hands balled at his sides. She felt really bad afterwards - with all of her mom's issues, she was usually pretty conscious of other people's feelings. To be fair, though, Fester did something pretty dickish to her earlier in the day. Gavin couldn't remember what, though; Fester being a jerk happened so often you might as well try to remember every single time you walked by the end table in the upstairs hall, or every time you opened a certain door. In fact, one of Gavin's earliest memories was of Lester shocking him with a live electrical wire and laughing in that hissing, snorting way of his. He _still _had a scar on his left forearm.

The only one who wasn't revolted/terrified/completely off put by him was Lydia - every time someone said something about him, her brows would furrow and her normally gentle face would darken like a cloud passing in front of the sun. _You guys are so _mean_. He's just sad and lonely. _Well, that was not untrue, but maybe if he wasn't a giant bastard to everyone, he'd be a little more popular around the house. Lydia didn't see it that way, she thought everyone else was _bullying _him.

Leave it to _her _to see it that way. She was too nice for her own good, and kind. She was the type of girl who'd bring home every stray in the neighborhood if you let her _because he looks so sad. _The only thing she loved more than nurturing animals and playing den mother to her siblings was the honor roll: The day she didn't turn in her homework or complete her assignment first was the day Satan threw on a parka and pulled on his galoshes.

Where was I again?

Oh, yeah. Video games. One day, Gavin was going to be a game designer; he already had notebooks filled with ideas and sketches that he kept tucked safely under his pillow and brought out when he wasn't busy playing. He wasn't a bragging kind of guy, but he thought he had some good stuff, and in nine or ten years, he'd be famous.

Right now, however, on a warm Saturday afternoon in the middle of April, he had a major issue: His OmniBox6000, which could play every video game known to man, from Atari 2600 carts to the latest Playstation discs, wasn't working. When he turned it on, the screen went blue and Russian text flashed across. He was good with math and science, but at actually _fixing _things? No...not even a little: Theory and practice are two very different things. He could _figure _how to do something, but it was the doing part that always tripped him up. Dad was a mechanical whiz, and so was his great-aunt Lana, but he was trash.

Normally, he'd call Dad to help, but he, Mom, and aunt Leia were visiting their friend Marsha in Chippewa Falls. Aunt Lizy was pretty good, but she and Lora took Lean and Leah to a birthday party at The Pizza Dungeon. Lana was at work. That meant…

Gulp.

...he'd have to take it to Uncle Fester.

Standing in the middle of his sun-bathed room with the sleek OmniBox in his hands and a tight-lipped expression of indecision on his face, Gavin took a deep breath through his nose and glanced at the open door - beyond, the hall stood empty, silent. He _really _didn't want to do this, but what else was he going to do, go outside? Pfft. He _could _work in his notebook, but he was on Level 50 of _Pac-Man 2069_ and he was itching to get to Level 60 by the end of the day - from what he read online, Level 60 was when things got intense.

Dad wouldn't be back until late (he always was when he went to visit Marsha), and Lizy would…

You know what? Nevermind. I'm going to see if Uncle Fester will do it. I mean, the guy isn't _that _bad. Like...he won't _really _pull me into his lab and give me a Jeffrey Dahmer lobotomy. The worst he'll do is say no. And maybe slam the door in my face.

The rough patch on his arm where Lester shocked him all those years ago stung as if in protest. _He's a madman, Gav. Don't do it._

I'm going to do it.

Taking the OmniBox with him, he went out into the hall and immediately tripped over one of Lean's toy trains; he stumbled, and the console flew from his hands, arching up before beginning its descent...and it was a long way down.

It crashed to the floor, and Gavin followed, sinking to his knees and throwing his hands up with a loud, protracted, "Nooooo!" The system tumbled end over end like a rectangular wheel, shedding bits and pieces of black plastic casing as it went. As he watched in horror, it hung an impossible sharp left and disappeared down the stairs. _Thud! Thud! Thud!_ When it hit the bottom, he winced.

"What was _that?" _Lydia called from the living room.

Gavin hung his head. Nothing, just my most prized possession. The reason I get up in the morning...the thing that I look forward to while guys shoot spitballs at the back of my head and girls sneer at me like I'm disgusting.

Just my life.

Heaving a deep breathing, he got to his feet and crept tentatively to the head of the stairs, already knowing he wasn't going to like what he found. At the bottom, Lydia stood over the OmniBox as though it were a dead body. A tall, curvy girl with ample hips and breasts, her curly brown hair spilling over her shoulders like...I don't know, brown hair...Lydia wore a blue pleated dress that stopped just above her knees and a pair of black, fur lined boots. She turned her head, and her brown pinched. Holding her hands out to the console, she spoke a single word. "Why?"

"Because Lean left her toys in the hall again," Gavin said as he came down the steps.

Lydia lifted her brow. "Blaming your little sister," she teased, "nice."

Normally, Gavin liked bantering with Lydia - of all of his relatives, he was probably closest to her. Growing up, she did the whole Mother Hubbard routine with him, and for a long time acted like he was a living baby doll, dressing him up, leading him around by the hand, feeding him bottles that didn't have anything in them, playing with him. Usually when he had a problem or needed advice, he'd go to her instead of his parents - that didn't happen too much anymore since he was older, but she was still a cool sis.

Right now, though, his OmniBox was busted and he was not in the mood. At the foot of the stairs, he bent and scooped up the battered remains of his beloved system: It was dented, cracked, and when he shook it, he could hear debris rattling around inside. Aw, man, it's even worse now.

Lydia leaned over and studied it. "I doubt it's going to work after _that," _she said at length.

Gavin nodded in acquiescence. No, it probably wouldn't; he'd have to get a part time job and work six months just to buy a new one. Ugh. Screw _that_.

Then he remembered. Duh. He had a secret weapon. Uncle Fester. "I'm gonna see if Fester can fix it."

Lydia's lips pursed. "I really wish you guys would stop calling him that. It's mean."

"Yeah, sorry," Gavin said absently over his shoulder as he went back up the stairs. Fester was a genius, so it shouldn't be _too _big a deal, right? At his uncle's door, he lifted his fist to knock, but paused. Oh, man, now that I'm here I'm flagging. I won't lie, this guy scares me. There's honestly something wrong with him, and I swear to God, one day you're going to turn on the news and see something about a mad, cackling supervillain in a giant robot destroying downtown Detroit. _Lester Loud, local eccentric and possible psychopath, is currently wreaking havoc in the streets, killing anyone who gets in his way. We advise you to seek shelter immediately._

As long as he fixes my Omnibox, I really don't care _what _he does.

He knocked, and waited for a moment, his stomach swirling with dread. He knocked again, and before he'd even drawn his hand back, the door wrenched open and Lester appeared, his eyes narrowed behind his lank bangs. Gavin fell back a step, and Lester came forward, his hand curled tightly around the knob like he was going to rip it off and shove it down Gavin's throat.

Being a professional my-research-is-so-important-I-can't-break-away type, Lester rarely bathed, or washed his clothes, and his ripe, sour scent jammed itself into Gavin's nostrils, making his eyes water. Cor blimey, that's bad. It's almost like something died, came back long enough to shit itself, then died again.

Lester tossed his bangs out of his face, and Gavin could have sworn he saw drops of grease flying through the air. "What do you want?" His voice was low, menacing, and his eyes -oh, God, his eyes were so dark they were _black_. Gavin licked his lips and tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come.

The older boy stared at him for a moment, brows knitted.

"H-Hey, Uncle Fe - Lester. I-I need some help."

Lester's eyes darted down to the console in Gavin's hands, then back to Gavin's face, the corners of his lips twitching up in a malicious smile. "What do we have here?" he asked. "Seems your idiot box met with an unfortunate fate."

Two unfortunate fates, actually. "It wasn't working when I turned it on...then I dropped it down the stairs."

Lester grinned smugly. "Of course you did." Wicked merriment danced in his eyes, and Gavin looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "You'd like me to take time from _very _busy schedule to repair it, wouldn't you?" The last two words came as sharp accusation.

Eh, well, uh….Gavin shrugged. "I-If you can't, that's okay, I was just, you, if you had time." He forced a sheepish grin.

Seeming to think for a moment, Lester waggled his bushy eyebrows. "Alright. Give it here."

Gavin blinked in surprise. "Y-You're going to fix it?"

He honestly didn't expect this.

"Yes, I'll fix it." He held out one grubby hand. "Now give it here."

Grinning, Gavin handed the system over. "Thanks, Uncle Lester, you're the best."

His grin dropped when Lester pinched his cheek - hard. His fingers were slimy and warm. Ew, ew, ew, "Anything for my _darling _nephew," he said, his voice oozing sarcasm. With that, he drew back into his room and slammed the door, Gavin catching a flash of a lit computer screen and something floating in a jar...it looked like a dead cat.

Weird.

But, none of my business. With a spring in his step, he turned and went back to his room; he did not hear the evil laughter emanating from behind Lester's door...

* * *

Of all the places in Royal Woods you could _possibly _hold a birthday party...they chose The Pizza Dugeon. *Hangs head* You know, the same place that was the target of an Action News 5 investigation last year, the same place where used condoms wound up in the pizza dough, roaches infested the kitchen, and dead rats littered the bottom of the ball pit, the same place that was owned be an evil, heartless corporation that underpaid its employees and taught them down to use welfare because giving someone a decent living wage is socialist or something.

_That _Pizza Dungeon.

_And people still came here_.

Lora Loud didn't understand it, she really didn't, but that's Royal Woods for you- the dumbest little town in America. Sitting at a table with her legs crossed and her face resting in her upturned palm, she drew a heavy sigh and watched the stage, where Dino the Hip Hop Dragon, TPD's esteemed mascot, jumped and screamed his way through a bizarre and not wholly unpleasant metal cover of _The Wheels on the Bus_. She blew of a puff of air that rustled the bangs of her pageboy cut hair and glanced at Leah, who sat across from her looking dejectedly at her pizza. A slender girl with dirty blonde hair in a sideways ponytail that laid limp across her shoulder, Leah had the clearest and most beautiful hazel eyes Lora had ever seen, and right now they brimmed with sadness.

"You can go play if you want," Lora said and glanced at the ball pit, where all of the other kids had congregated, laughing, pushing, and flopping around like inmates in an asylum. She spotted aunt Lizy talking to the mother of the birthday girl, and Lean picking up balls and launching them at her friends' faces. Her aim wasn't very good, but the ones she stuck didn't look like they felt too good.

Leah shook her head. "I wouldn't be caught dead in there."

Her voice lacked conviction.

"Why not?" Lora asked. "It looks fun." She glanced over as a little girl tackled Lean and both of them disappeared beneath a wave of multicolored balls. A little boy climbed the mesh wall, hung from one hand, slapped his elbow, and did some kind of wrestling move, landing on another little boy who lie prone. She winced and looked away.

Maybe she _was _better off staying here.

Alone.

With her boring nineteen-year-old sister; they could talk about the journalism course she was taking at the community college, and about her political activism. Those are topics of fascination to nine-year-old girls, right?

Of course not. They were to Lora when she was that age, but she wasn't the norm - she watched the news for fun and read biographies of William Randolph Hearst and Walter Cronkite. She wasn't exactly an authority on having a good time unless it involved either politics or current events, but she knew what lame was, and hanging out at a table with your older sister at a birthday party while everyone else plays is _pretty _lame.

Leah sighed. "They're all loud, annoying, and gross."

Ah, I see. Leah's mother, Leia (original, huh? She said _I couldn't give her _my _name, so I gave her the next best thing_) was...well...she was what those monsters on 4chan might call a princessfag - pink, girly, proper. She treated her daughter as though she were, too, but Lora knew for a fact that she was a _total _closet tomboy. She caught a snail once, and though she tried to hide it, Lora walked in on her letting it slither along her arm and giggling at the "gross" sensation of its slime trailing across her skin. There was also the time Lora found her sitting down to tea with her stuffed animals - instead of cookies or scones, a big dish full of mud and wiggling worms sat in the middle of the table. _Uh, I can explain, _Leah had said.

I guess playing in the ball pit isn't what _ladies _do, Lora thought. If so, fuck being a lady - ball pits weren't really her thing, but she'd rather that than play the part of a stereotypical bourgeois _girl_.

She leaned forward and laid her hands on the table. "You want to know a secret?" she asked.

Leah looked up, her brow furrowing. "What?"

"It's okay to stop being prim and proper and have fun." She flashed a warm smile, and Leah looked down at her plate again. "You know that, right?"

At length, the little girl shrugged. "Yeah," she mumbled noncommittally.

"Then go do it," Lora said.

Onstage, Dino, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses and a red bandanna tied behind his forehead, did a perfect moonwalk followed by an impressive backflip. A group of kids clustered around, dancing and pumping their fists. "Y'all niggas want some G-Unit?" he screamed into the mic. The kids cheered that they did, and he started to bob his head while throwing up gang signs with his free hand.

_Everywhere I go I got a tag along_

'_Cause my buzz gettin' strong and they mad I'm on_

_He ride with me when I'm past the mall_

_Wait for me on the bench when I'm running a game of basketball_

_One squeeze will make a bastard fall_

_Gasp and crawl_

_You need a bulletproof vest mask and all_

Lora sighed. Why they let this guy sing misogynistic rap songs that promoted violence, the degradation of women, and the gangster lifestyle, she would never know. Her grandpa always said The Pizza Dungeon didn't make any sense and you'd drive yourself crazy if you thought about it; he was right.

"I just…" Leah trailed off. "It makes me feel, like...awkward." She looked up and scrunched her lips to one side. "Like…" she turned her head to the side, face away. "Like I'm doing something wrong."

Dino walked across the stage on one hand, the mic clutched in the other. The crowd went _wild_.

_Infrared beam and a scope for distance_

_The best company when approaching business_

_He will ride with me 'til the end_

_We all got a friend and mine is a G-U-N_

Lora's heart broke into a million little pieces, then a cosmic capitalist jackboot stomped them into the ground. "Oh, honey," she said and reached across the table, taking her sister's hand in hers and squeezing. "You're a kid. There's nothing wrong with _acting _like a kid and not...stuck up." She _was _going to say _a stuck up bitch like your mother_. Aunt Leia wasn't a bad person, but she _was _kind of stuck-up. Her hair and makeup were always perfect, and her French tipped nails _never _touched anything _dirty, gross, _or _disgusting. _She was too _good _for things like hard work and reading and _mingling with the rabble_. Like, wow, okay, Marie Antoinette. Lora couldn't help disliking the woman - while she, at eighteen, was on a Greenpeace mission in Guatemala digging ditches so poor villagers could have clean water, Leia was laid up in a spa with cold cream on her face and cucumber slices covering her eyes. The world, Lora had learned, was a big, scary place where terrible, awful things happen, and you can either do your part to improve it, you can do your part to make it worse...or you can sit on your ass and watch it burn. Leia was one to sit and watch it burn.

Actually, scratch that - Leia was too absorbed in her little material world to watch the real one burn.

She was also hurting her daughter with her expectations.

Dino shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in a poised Crip walk.

_Niggas know I got new friends so they stay in their place, kid_

_I stay screaming on niggas and beating up baseheads_

_These niggas ain't thorough, they just like to pretend_

_Keep fucking 'round they gon' say hello to my little friend_

Leah's eyes briefly met Lora's, then darted away. "I just feel like everyone's looking at me funny when I do _that _stuff."

That stuff. Translation: Act like a normal nine-year-old. Lora started to speak, but an idea struck her, and she smiled. "How about this?" She leaned in conspiratorially, and Leah shrank back a little. "We'll go play. You and me. Everyone will be so focused on the grown woman that they won't even notice you."

Leah snorted as though she found the image of Lora playing in the ball pit amusing. To be fair, it _was _kind of funny - and the looks she'd get! Not that she really cared; she lived her life according to her own desires, and if she desired to cut loose and act like an overgrown kid, what of it? Everywhere you go, everything you do, someone is going to judge you, someone is going to think you're wrong, so why not live the way you want? If you're going to get flak, might as well get it doing something that makes you happy.

And right now, seeing her little sister happy would make Lora happy.

She threaded her fingers through Leah's and nodded toward the ball pit. "Come on," she said and got up. Leah resisted, but Lora tugged. "Come on," she repeated.

"No," Leah said, but she was grinning, "leave me alone."

"Not until you have fun," Lora said. "Don't make me yank you out of that booth. I'm stronger than I look."

Rolling her eyes and sighing exaggeratedly, Leah got up and allowed herself to be dragged across the restaurant, her eyes going to Dino, who made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and pointed it directly at her.

_And when there was beef, you even played your position_

_Got under the seat until we spotted our victim_

A shver raced down her spine and she whipped her head away. Every kid who ever set foot in here _loved _Dino, but not her - he was scary. At the last birthday party she went to, he came over, knelt down, took her hand, and started singing _Girl, You Know It's True. _She liked gross things, but that was a little _too _gross even for her.

_Remember it was broad daylight in the middle of New York_

_And little did they know that we was ready for war_

_Bet the nigga wish he never stuck his head out the door_

At the entrance to the ball pit, Lora ducked and glanced back over her shoulder. Leah looked uncomfortable, but was that a flicker of hope in her eyes? Lora thought it was, and it made her smile. "Last one in's a rotten egg." She released Leah's hand and scurried through the opening; her foot caught on something and she fell face first into the balls with a muffled _umph_. You wouldn't think soft bits of plastic would hurt, but ow, they really did.

Leah laughed so hard she nearly cried, and Lora shot her a faux-dirty look. "Splat!" Leah said and laughed harder, her hands fluttering to her stomach as if to keep her sides from splitting. Lora snickered a little, too. It _was _kind of funny.

"You think you could do better?" she asked archly.

"Uh, yeah," Leah said. "I cheerlead, remember?"

Lora rolled. "Oh, right," she teased, "you stand there and shake those frilly things."

"They're called pom poms," Leah said defensively, "and there's a lot more to it than that."

_When the first one get out, the next one go_

_To know where you headed, you got to know where you been_

_The Glock stay with me, we friends 'til the end_

Lora picked up and ball and threw it at the mesh separating her and Leah. "Show me, then," she said.

The little girl's face set determinedly, and she climbed in, then hopped down into the pit, the balls coming half way up her thighs. "There," she said smugly and crossed her arms.

Rolling her eyes again, Lora picked up a ball and threw it at her face: It hit her square on the nose and bounced to one side. Leah's face crinkled, and Lora laughed. "_There," _she said in a nasally imitation of Leah's voice. Leah fixed her with a deadly glare, then stooped down, picked up a ball herself, and flung it; crying out, Lora threw up her hands to shield her face, but the ball caught her on the chin anyway. Leah's delighted laughter told her that she'd accomplished her mission. Good one, Lor.

"You know what _this _means, don't you?" she asked.

"What?"

She picked up another ball and grinned. "War."

Leah grabbed one in each hand and returned her grin. "Bring it on."

* * *

Gavin sat back in his chair with a sigh and glanced at the clock: 1 pm. Lester was going on two hours with the OmniBox, which seemed like a really long time, since he saw Lester once repair a broken computer modem in, like, half an hour. And when I say broken, I mean _in a little pile of dust_. He looked at the notebook open on the desk before him and scrunched his lips to the side: There was a hand drawn map on one page and chicken scrawl on the one facing - even he had to squint and tilt his head to read it. Sheesh, my handwriting sucks. He knew that, since everyone saw fit to tell him, but usually _he _could at least decipher it.

Then again, he hands didn't usually shake like he was a junkie feening for a hit; if he didn't get his OmniBox back soon, he'd wind up curled in a fetal position on the bathroom room and convulsing like a heroin addict going into withdrawal. He licked his lips, and they were dry, too dry, putting him mind of a fish shriveling up in the sun.

Come on, Fester, I'm dying here!

He briefly considered going to check on his progress, but decided against it: Unc would probably fly into a rage or something. _How darest thy bother thee during thine endeavors. _He snickered. Lester didn't talk like that, but his mom kind of did: Lots of big, technical words for small, everyday things...which always intrigued him. Why call it _sodiumpetrohydratesupercalifragilisticexpialidocious _when you can just call it a tomato like literally everyone else, even Einstien? Or did Einstein speak that way? Hm. Gavin didn't know - he read a little about him, but if we're talking famous people here, Gavin was _waaaay _more into video game designers, like Shigeru Miyamoto, the guy behind Super Mario 64. :O Face: one the best games ever. That guy was a legend and Gavin wanted to be just like him...except not quite as Asian. Not that there was anything wrong being Asian, just...you know...he was already pretty used to being a white dude, why change horses in the middle of a race?

Speaking of white dudes, James Rolfe was cool too. You know, the Angry Video Game Nerd. He used to do reviews of shitty games on YouTube and rant and rave about how much they sucked - he was hilarious. A real national treasure. Too bad he got old and died. Sigh.

Died.

Like I'm going to do if Fester doesn't hurry up and fix my OmniBox.

He licked his lips again - still dry. A drunk jonesing for a drink. Better go wet my whistle; that'll kill some time. He got up and went down stairs, throwing a hateful glance at Lean's train. I oughta hide it from her. Teach her a lesson about leaving her stuff everywhere.

Pft. Fat chance of _that _working: Lean was the biggest slob you ever met, worse even than aunt Loan. And her freaking obsession with trains. Go down in the basement and you'll see it: This huge train set winding around a little town with forests and hills and everything else. Dad and Grandpa built it with her last summer. It was cool, don't get me wrong, but yeah, this girl and trains. Sheesh. That's all she was about.

I guess I'm the same way. Shouldn't throw stones, I might damage my glass house. The little life bar in the corner is already pretty low; gotta conserve.

In the kitchen, he found Lydia and one of her friends sitting at the table studying. On a Saturday. Hey, I like making good grades too, but you have to relax sometimes. He opened the fridge and grabbed a Coke, then popped the lid and took a long drink. "Hey, Gav?" Lydia asked, and he turned; she was bent over her notebook, writing and scanning the page. "Next time you see Uncle Lester, can you tell him he has a package?"

"I can bring it -"

"It says _highly volatile _on it," she said, "I'd rather you didn't touch it. _I _didn't even want to touch it."

Oh. Well, yeah, I'd rather not touch it either, then. You know, it's funny - Fester was always getting strange stuff through the mail, stuff that Gavin assumed you're not exactly allowed to send through the mail: He wasn't certain, but he thought he saw his uncle pull a stick of plutonium out of a package once.

Suddenly, Gavin had the telltale skin-crawl feeling of being watched. Lydia's friend, Mia, was watching him with a sly smile, her eyes dancing with malicious light. A tall, thin black girl with long, straight hair, pouty, sensuous lips, and clad in a pink summer dress, she was hoooot...but, unless he was mistaken, that's the kind of look someone gives you when they're cooking up a wicked zinger at your expensive. Flushing, Gavin turned and hurried out - I get called Moe Howard enough at school, I can do without it in my own kitchen.

Upstairs, he ducked into his room...and froze. The OmniBox was sitting on his desk, gleaming in a spill of sunlight and looking like it just shipped off the assembly line. Gavin fisted his free hand bent his knees. "Thank _God_." You the man, Fester.

He went over, sat his can down, and picked the console up, turning it over in his hands and looking for the slightest sign of the calamity that befell it this morning. None. Not even a ding. How his uncle did it, he'd never know; that guy really _is _a genius.

Grinning ear to ear, Gavin carried the game over to the TV, knelt, and hooked it up - there's a lot of wires back here, they might cause a fire. I'll take care of it later. He rocked back on his knees, turned the TV on, and pressed the big green button on the front of the game.

_ZAP!_

Blinding white light filled the world, and a billion volts of hot agony shot up Gavin's arm; he cried out and fell back, his head whacking off the floor and the room spinning violently. Monstrous pain throbbed hotly in his hand, and tears filled his eyes.

Owwww, fuck! He bared his teeth and tried to make a fist, but howled when his muscles spasmed. He turned his head, and that's when he saw him: Fester standing in the doorway, shoulders hunched and head down, chin flush with his chest. Greasy black hair veiled his eyes, and a wide, gleaming smile ran across his pimply face.

He did it on purpose.

Gavin's hand pulsed, and he hissed through his teeth. "Why?" he asked, his voice small and broken, that of a child hurt by its guardian.

By way of response, Lester started to laugh, a breathy, evil, snorting chuckle that slowly swelled into a full on cackle. Gavin watched him through tear blurred eyes, his chest rising and falling as anger flooded him. Lester turned and started to walk away, chin still against his chest - he looked like a hunchback; an ugly, horrible, sadistic hunchback.

Gavin got woozily to his feet. "This is why no one likes you!" he heard himself scream. Then: "_Fester!"_

Lester came to a crashing halt, his shoulders tensing. He spun, and in his eyes Gavin saw fire...and instantly regretted his words. "You little _bastard," _he spat and stalked forward.

Gavin's heart leapt into his throat, but before he could scream for help, Lydia called up the stairs. "Gav? You okay?"

The flames in Lester's eyes flickered, and he pursed his lips; he locked his gaze with Gavin's, and for a moment they stared each other down, then Lydia appeared behind the sadist, her brows furrowed in concern. "What's going on?"

"Him!" Gavin said and jutted his chin toward his uncle.

Lydia looked at Fester. "I repaired his...toy...and there was a malfunction He seems to think I did it intentionally."

"You did!" Gavin said. "Y-You laughed!"

Lydia sighed. "Really, Gavin? He wouldn't do that."

"No, I wouldn't," Lester said, "and it hurts me that he thinks I would." With that, he turned and brushed past Lydia, who took a step after and called his name; he didn't stop until he went into his lab, the door slamming behind him.

Lydia turned, her lips puckered and her forehead pinched. She looked mad. Mad at Gavin. "You really believe him?" he cried. "Look at my hand!" He held it up, and she gasped: It was red and swollen, some of the hairs across his knuckles singed black.

"Oh, my God." She came in and grabbed his wrist, bringing it to her face for closer examination. "I-I should call an ambulance."

"No, it's fine -"

She released him, turned, and pulled her cellphone out. Gavin started to protest, but his muscles seized and he moaned.

Alright. Maybe the emergency room _wasn't _such a bad idea.


	2. Crossfire

**I'll reupload the rest later. **

**Lyrics to _Bulldagger Stole My Bitch _by 2 Live Crew (1996)**

Lemy Loud took a drag from his cigarette and blew out a bluish plume of smoke that hung heavily in the air. Next to him, Gwen gazed out the window, her hands in her lap and her fingers drumming restlessly on her knee; maybe it was the maternal fear, or maybe it was the way the sunlight bathed her face, but in that moment she looked at lot older than her thirty-one years.

She hadn't spoken since they hurriedly left Marsha's house fifteen minutes before - she, Lemy, Leia, and Marsha herself were reminiscing over old times (if ya know what I mean) when Lydia called to say Gavin had an 'accident' and that they were waiting for an ambulance. _He got shocked really bad and his hand's really hurt, _Lydia said, panic edging her voice.

Of all the things you can possibly hear as a parent, that your child's been injured is the absolute fucking worst - it's like being punched in the stomach then kneed in the heart. Gwen wasn't the only one who was worried; Lemy was beside himself with the shit, and it took everything he had not to lay his foot on the pedal and blow every red light between him and his son. If he was alone in the car, he might have risked being reckless, but he wasn't; he may have risked it if it was just him, Leia, and Gwen, but it wasn't.

Madelyn was with them.

At four, Maddie, a light-skinned black girl with pigtails and a big smile, was Lemy's youngest daughter - that he knew of. She lived with Marsha, but, like many of his children, stayed the weekend with him. If it had been up to him, he'd have left her with her mother and then came back for her when he knew what the hell was happening with Gavin, but she threw a fit about not wanting Daddy to leave her, which made him feel even worse than he already did. He hated not being there for her 24/7 the way a father should be, and when she spazzed out over something, he usually gave in.

I'm spoiling her, I know. Fucking...sue me or something.

Presently she sat in her booster seat kicking her legs back and forth and paging through a book full of Disney fairy princesses or something Leia bought her. Leia sat beside, one arm draped over the back of the seat and her body half turned to face her. A tiny smile played at the corner of her lips, and she pointed at the book. "Do you know who _she _looks like?" she asked.

Maddie turned her head. "Who?" she asked curiously.

"You," she said and tapped the little girl's nose; Maddie giggled and said something that Lemy didn't hear over the honk of some asshole behind him.

The light was green.

Gripping the wheel tightly, he released the brake and pushed down on the gas. He glanced over at Gwen; her fingers drummed faster and she chewed her bottom lip, something she only did when she was _really _worried. He reached over and closed his hand over the back of hers; she jerked her head around, and her eyes swirled with anxiety. "He's fine," Lemy said, surprised that his voice was steady. During the call from Lydia, he heard Gavin in the background. _I'm fine, my hand just hurts. It's not _that _big a deal_. Lemy was inclined to believe him - Gavin wasn't full of false bravado like he was at that age, if he was really bad off he wouldn't hide it - but all he knew was that one of his kids was hurt, and until he saw him with his own eyes, he would labor under the presumption that he was actively dying.

"I'm just worried," Gwen said, a tremor in her voice that cut Lemy like a knife. He threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand.

"Don't be," he said, but that's easier said than done.

Man, there's no worse feeling than knowing your child's in pain, and it never got easier no matter how many times it happened, and to Lemy Loud, it had happened a lot over the past nineteen years.

See, he had a _lot _of kids. Almost as many as his old man. He racked 'em up the way 50 Cent racked up bullet wounds. Ever read the Bible? Lemy hadn't, but there's a book in there that's, like, three pages of _this one begot that one_. Wanna see Lemy's kids in that format?

Oldest to youngest:

Lora, nineteen, with Loan. His hot tempered SJW. She wasn't _that _bad, but if he called something _gay, retarded, _or _autistic, _she came down on him like Judgement Day. She wanted to be a journalist - even when she was a little girl, she loved watching the news, and knew more about current events that he did. She was determined and had a strong sense of fairness and right and wrong. She inherited his depth of thought but none of her mother's anxieties, thank fuck, but she did have a tendency to pop off when she got mad. Once, she went full retard on Lester for saying something about women not knowing their place anymore; picked up a plate, broke it over the table, and waved it around like a weapon. That was the only time Lemy had ever went upside one of his kids' heads. _The fuck's the matter with you? _He felt like dog shit afterwards, but come on, she was gonna gut someone.

Lydia, seventeen, with Liena. She was just as bright as Lora, and so sweet that after hanging with her for an extended period of time, Lemy had to call his dentist. She liked playing mother to her younger siblings, and always had, especially Gavin. When he and Gwen brought him home, Lydia stared at him with wide-eyed wonder, then kissed his forehead. _I be your best sister, _the three-year-old said, and from then on she was his guardian, protector, and constant companion. Given his family's history, Lemy had always expected them to fall in love one day. As far as he knew, though, they were just a normal brother and sister, and he couldn't decide if he was proud or disappointed.

Lera, sixteen, with Lyra. She lived with her mother and stepfather in California. Yeah, it's a long story - one that began with him waking up one morning to find his sister and their daughter gone. Lyra still wouldn't tell him why she left, and after a while he stopped holding his breath that she ever would. Lera looked more like him than Lyra - she was kind of...overweight...and cut her hair short when she was fourteen then dyed it bright red. She wore a stud in her nose and apparently had a girlfriend.

Rachel, fifteen, with Ronnie Anne Santiago. That's another long story. She came over to the house one day to see Dad, but Dad wasn't in. He invited her in, they hung out in the kitchen for a while, then...you know how things go. They lived on the other side of town. She was short and petite with long black hair, liquid dark eyes, and a mole on her neck. Unlike Ronnie, she was a little...timid. He called her Mouse because that's what she reminded him of, a cute, brown little mouse.

Gavin, fourteen, with Gwen. It took them awhile to conceive, and they were just beginning to think Gwen was barren. Then one morning, she walked into the kitchen, caught the scent of cooking bacon, and threw up all over the back of Lupa's head. Lemy loved all of his kids equally, but if you asked him what the happiest day of his life was, he'd grudgingly admit it was the day his and Gwen's child was born.

Lisey, 12, with Lacy. She and Liby wanted a baby of their own and Lemy gave it to them. She had long brown hair and played basketball because why not? Lemy loved her to death, but she was _awful_. At her last game, she tripped while coming out onto the court and her entire team tripped over her in turn, like a bunch of dominoes. She, Liby, and Lacy lived in Elk Park.

Lila, 12, with his mom's old friend Sam. She reminded him of himself at that age - a very deep thinker whose mind was always working; sometimes she talked out loud to herself. She loved to read, mainly crap like Jane Austen, and wanted to be a writer. She had messy brown hair like his (poor kid, I'm sorry) and wore it to her shoulders. When she came over, they wrote poetry together (neither one was very good) and listened to AC/DC. She loved them - he made it a point to expose all of his kids to cool music when they were young. Sometimes it took, sometimes it didn't. Lora _hated _AC/DC (and their _misogynist lyrics_ \- nigga wat) and Lydia liked their 'slow songs'...which told him she was thinking of a different band altogether.

Leah, nine, with Leia. She was pink on the outside, but grody on the inside. He literally caught her picking chewed gum off the bottom of a table at Denny's once and popping it into her mouth. Sometimes they went on special excursions together - he told Leia they were going to the mall to window shop or some shit, but he really took Leah to the river for crawfish and tadpole catching. She had much, much more fun doing that than cheerleading, but God, don't tell Leia.

Lean, six, with Lizy. Lizy loved model cars when she was a little girl, and Lean loved trains. Sometimes she'd have him sitting at the train set in the basement for hours, her on his lap and his arms around her stomach. He bought her a conductor's hat for Christmas, and she wore it for a good two months straight, even sleeping in it. Her favorite part of playing with her train set was putting cars on the tracks and watching the train mow them down. She looked cute and sweet on the outside, and she was...but she was also hella morbid sometimes. He had no fucking clue where she got it.

Maddie, four, with Marsha. Your typical four-year-old little girl. She wanted a puppy so bad she _dreamed _about it, and Marsha kept telling her no. That meant Lemy would have to be the one to go out, buy a dog, and house it even when Maddie wasn't there. He didn't want a pet but, again, he caved in quicker than a Chinese mineshaft

Now where was I? Oh, right; bumps, cuts, sprains, burns, and even breaks happened a thousand times over the years, but even so, every time Lemy saw one of his kids hurt, it hurt _him. _Literally it was like being stabbed in the soul. You'd think you'd get used to it after nearly two decades and ten kids, but you don't.

Ever.

At the next intersection, still clutching Gwen's hand and taking as much strength from her as he gave, he pulled onto Pinecrest Blvd: The hospital sat on a hill surrounded by dense green trees and parking lots filled with cars, trucks, and vans gleaming in the unseasonably hot spring sun. Gwen squeezed harder as they turned onto the service road edging the hospital grounds. At the main entrance he braked as an ambulance pulled out, then hung a left. He spotted a slot next to a Ford and navigated in. As soon as the car was stopped, Gwen let go of his hand and jumped out, her black knit cardigan swishing around her like wings - up, up, and away. Lemy killed the engine, threw open the door, and climbed out, then went to the back door and opened it. Maddie looked up from her book and grinned. "I look like her," she said and pointed to the book.

"No you don't," Lemy said as he leaned over and undid the shoulder straps, "you're even more beautiful." He pecked her forehead and picked her up; she threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his sides like a koala cub in a tree. Leia got out the other side, and together they walked toward the entrance, an overhang with EMERGENCY in big white letters casting it in shade. Leia's phone buzzed and she whipped it out, drawing Lemy's attention - she wore jeans and a pink crop top that exposed the smooth, creamy flesh of her shoulders and throat. Her hair, once done up in pigtails, hung free like summer wheat, a _more sophisticated look, _she said. She was always trying to get him to shave his beard because _beards are for the rabble and it prickles when you kiss me_. LOL. Nope. I look like a lesbian when I shave.

The automatic doors slid open with a _whoosh _and they went into the emergency room: A waiting room opened off the right, filled with people in various states of banged-up-itude: A black woman in a face mask (flu, Lemy figured, or Captain Trips); a boy holding an ice pack to the side of his head; a woman slumped over in her chair and breathing heavy, an old man looking worried and twisting the hem of his shirt in gnarled hands. Lemy gulped and looked away - he fucking hated hospitals; they were dens of death and misery and aside from childbirth, nothing good ever happened in them.

Ahead was a big C-shaped desk. Gwen stood before it with her arms crossed while a woman in scrubs worked on a computer. As he walked up, Lemy shifted Maddie to his left arm and put his free hand on Gwen's shoulder; she glanced at him then back to the woman, her body leaning stiffly into his. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and drew her protectively to his chest.

Maddie suddenly strained against him and nearly upset his balance. "Look, Daddy!" she cried. He glanced over his shoulder to see an old man being pushed in a wheelchair - he had to be five hundred pounds at least. Maddie pointed at him and he looked at her. "That man's so fat Thanos had to snap twice!"

Leia snorted laughter and Lemy's face fell. The fat man glared, then he was gone through the doors. "That was _not _nice," Lemy said, and his little girl whipped her head around, her brow creasing in a way that said _Uh-oh, I did something wrong_. "Where'd you hear that, anyway."

"Aunt Leia," Maddie said meekly.

Lemy shot his sister a dirty look, and she shrugged dismissively. "It's not _our _fault people let themselves go like that. We're motivating them to improve."

Maddie nodded. "No," Lemy said pointedly to her and not Leia - Leia was a lost cause, Maddie was not. "Making fun of people is wrong and you don't do it. How would you feel if someone made fun of _you_?"

The little girl blinked. "Bad," she said and darted her eyes away in shame. Lemy hated disciplining his kids like that and making them feel shitty, but that's how we grow as people, right? A parent's job is to correct their child's course, and sometimes that includes saying _dick move, yo._

"Sorry," she muttered.

He kissed her forehead. "It's alright. Just don't do it again."

"I won't," she vowed.

Lemy looked at Leia, and she crossed her arms defensively. "Stop teaching her bad shit, okay?"

"I don't wanna do bad shit," Maddie said earnestly.

*Hangs head* Now, that one's on _me_.

I'll spare you the story of how they sat in the waiting room for over an hour, Maddie getting restless and cranky then falling asleep, face against Lemy's chest and mouth hung open; Gwen wringing her hands and staring intently at the door leading into the emergency room proper; Lemy restlessly tapping his foot; and Leia browsing Facebook on her phone, legs crossed. Suffice it to say, it was an eternity in purgatory, and when a doctor finally came out to lead them back to Gavin, the sense of relief was palpable, like a storm breaking.

Gavin was in a room across from the nurse's station, sitting up in bed, his right hand wrapped in thick white gauze. He wore a dark blue T-shirt and black Jinco jean shorts. Lydia sat in a chair next to the bed, and when Lemy, Leia, and Gwen came in, Gavin looked up.

"Are you okay?" Gwen asked as she rushed to his bedside. She ran her hand through his hair as if checking for wounds the doctor may have missed, and the boy flinched.

"I'm fine, Mom, really," he said. "Except they gave me drugs and I'm a junkie now."

"Don't say that," Lydia said sharply - her tone made it clear that the idea of her little brother as a strung out dope fiend upset her.

Lemy went over and stood next to Gwen; Maddie turned in his arms and brightened when she saw her brother. "Hi, Gavin!" Then her brow furrowed. "Why's your hand like that?"

"Why don't you ask Uncle Fester?" Gavin said sullenly.

Maddie's eyes widened and she whipped around to bury her face in Lemy's chest. "Nevermind," she said.

Lester?

Gwen stiffened at the mention of her brother-in-law's name. "What happened?" she asked, a sharp edge in her voice.

Before Gavin could reply, Lydia spoke up. "Gavin broke his game system and Uncle Lester fixed it. I-I guess it malfunctioned somehow and shocked Gav when he turned it on."

"He did it on purpose," Gavin said.

"No he didn't," Lydia countered.

"He laughed!"

Gwen looked at Lemy: Lips pursed, brow heavy, eyes narrowed. They'd been together twenty years, and in that time he'd come to know that expression well; It meant she was pissed and anyone who got in her way was gonna get mawed. Not in a cute, sexy way, in a _oh, god, my eyes are leaking down my face and my guts are hanging out, it hurts so bad _kind of way. Mama Bear didn't come out often, but when she did, oh boy - once, when Gavin was two, she took him and Lydia to the park. An older girl about seventeen didn't like something Gavin said and shoved him to the ground, skinning his knees. Lydia ran to tell, and Gwen...well...Gwen beat the ever loving fuck outta the girl. It was bad.

And so was this.

Lemy loved his brother, but he couldn't lie, he was a weirdo, and the sad thing about weirdos is this: Whenever something bad happens, they tend to catch the blame. People are hardwired to fear and revile those who are different and don't fit the norm. Lemy thought it had to do with how waaaaaay back we lived in cloistered little tribes that were constantly at war with each other. Anyone from outside the clan was regarded as a danger - there's a thing called genetic memory, and Lemy figured that that, the fear of those who are not like us, was somehow linked to to that long ago mistrust. He didn't fucking know: His point was, Lester was different and when you're strange, people treat you like a jerk. He knew that from firsthand experience.

"I swear to God if he hurt my son…" Gwen started.

"He didn't, Aunt Gwen, I swear," Lydia said strickenly, "he wouldn't do that."

"He did," Gavin said.

"...I'll knock his teeth down his throat."

"Uncle Fester scares me," Maddie said.

"I don't think he'd do that," Leia put in, "but I wouldn't put it past him."

Everyone was talking at once now, and Lemy felt like he was drowning, his face inches above the choking waves. "Everyone shut up," he barked, and the room fell silent, everyone turning to look at him. Like Mama Bear, Dad Voice didn't show up very often, but when it did you knew he meant business. "Are you sure he did it on purpose?" he asked his son.

"He was standing there laughing," Gavin said.

"That bastard," Gwen growled. She wrapped her arm around Gavin's head and pulled him to her breast, and from the wince of pain on the boy's face, she hurt him even more than Lester _allegedly _did. "I want him out of the house. Send him to live with his father. He's nothing but trouble."

Lemy sighed. "There's no room over there."

When Gen 3 of the Loud family began in earnest, Dad bought the house next door - it was much smaller than 1216. He, Lemy's aunts, and most of his sisters (who still lived in Royal Woods) stayed there while all of the kids lived with Lemy, Gwen, Loan, Lizy, and Leia. Except for Luya, Lupa's daughter with Dad: She kicked up a fuss and cut her wrists because she didn't want to 'be apart from Daddy.' As far as Lemy knew, she slept in the bed with Dad, Lupa, and Lucy every night and trailed him like a lost puppy, unless someone else was around - in that case she put up a hip, aloof front. Total scene poser just like her mom.

Anyway, Dad and Lisa couldn't stow Lester in a cupboard, so he lived with Lemy. No big deal, except everyone couldn't get over how _strange _he was. And yeah, admittedly, he was kind of a dick, but when everyone makes fun of you from the other kids at school to your own siblings, nieces, and nephews, yeah, you get mad and act like an asshole.

"Look," he said now, "just because he was laughing doesn't mean he did it intentionally." He wouldn't lie, it pissed him off that Lester fucking laughed about it, but like he said, he could understand why he was the way he was.

"That's what _I _said," Lydia replied.

Lydia was like him, deep; she understood Lester and his reasons with as much clarity as he, Lemy, did. Like her mother, she was sweet and kind, and that led her to treat Lester with more care and patience than everyone else. Lemy was immensely proud of her for that, and wished the others would give him the same consideration she did.

Gwen ran her fingers through Gavin's hair - her eyes were hard and her nostrils flared, lending her the appearance of a raging bull. Lemy put his hand on her shoulder, but she yanked away. "You're always making excuses for him."

Lemy sighed. "I'm not making excuses. I'm also not jumping to conclusions."

Gwen's jaw clenched, and he instantly regretted the jab. "He was lurking around waiting for it to happen. If it's a conclusion, Lemy, it's a foregone one."

"Why did Uncle Fester hurt Gavin?" Maddie asked somberly and looked up at Lemy, her eyes wide with concern.

"He didn't," Lemy said.

"Did," Gwen spat.

Gavin nodded. "It's true."

Ever have one of those days where you just want to clock off, go home, and smoke a fat blunt while listening to happy, upbeat power pop? Lemy had, and today was apparently one such day: His son was hurt, his wife was out for blood, and he was Stevie Ray Vaughan, caught in the crossfire. He looked from Gavin to Gwen, the former sullen and the latter seething with fury. Maybe he was still a bitch after all these years, but he hated when Gwen was mad at him, and he usually did whatever it took to make her happy again. In this case, though, what could he do? Lester couldn't go next door...and he couldn't kick his own flesh and blood out of his home even if he _could_.

He was still a bitch, maybe, but his life was still _totally _BS.

"Look," he said to his wife, "I'll talk to him and see what his side of the story is. T-There's no proof he did it on purpose and with the way everyone acts about him, it's easy to pin something on him he didn't do."

He was hoping that would mollify Gwen, but from the sneer on her face, he saw that it didn't, sigh. "The way everyone acts about _him_? Look at how he acts about everyone else!"

Grudgingly, Lemy nodded. He wasn't claiming the guy wasn't a dick, he was. The last time Barron Trump ran for president, he wore a red TRUMP '56 hat around the house just to piss off Lora (it worked...God, did it ever). One time, he bought a book on trainwrecks and called Lean into his lab, where he showed her picture after picture of mangled freighters, passenger cars, and steam engines. That one wound up backfiring - she loved it and asked him if she could borrow it: She crawled into Lemy's lap and happily pointed at one of the pictures. _Look, Daddy, that one a'sploded._ The last time Lera came to visit, he made a snide remark about lesbians that made her so mad she lunged at him. The only person he wasn't an asshole to was Lydia - for the most part he simply ignored her the way he did Lemy. Lemy figured it was out of appreciation for treating him not-like-garbage, or maybe that was wishful thinking.

I don't fucking know, man, I'm floundering here. This is a rough fucking place to be - stuck between my brother and my wife. "Just…let me talk to him," he said because he had nothing else. Gwen blew a puff of air through her nostrils. "Please?" There was a needy, begging quality to his voice that made him flinch, but it did the trick; Gwen's features softened...just a little.

Turning to Gavin, Lemy asked, "How's your hand?"

The boy shrugged. "Achy," he said. "Like a burn."

"The doctor said there's no nerve damage or anything," Lydia explained. She gave her brother a sympathetic frown. "It's going to hurt for a while, though." She reached out and patted his knee with a wan, closed-lip smile.

Well, thank God for _that._

Thank God for that.

* * *

Across town, Lora Loud pulled her pea green Prius into a parking spot facing the plate-glass window flanking the main entrance of The Pizza Dungeon and cut the engine, killing Katy Perry mid whine. Lora was a tall girl, over six feet, and the Prius was so small that sometimes the steering wheel bumped into her knees as she was driving. She loved it dearly, though, from the faux leather upholstery and organic pine tree shaped air freshener to the many bumper stickers on the back: COEXIST; WAR IS MASS MURDER; Gay pride flag; DO YOU KEEP HEARING CRAZY VOICES? TURN OFF FOX NEWS; BREAK THE CHAIN, SHOP AT INDEPENDENT STORES; a peace sign; and her personal favorite...FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS VOTE REPUBLICAN. Like her, the Prius was a loud and proud liberal, though the car was a _little _louder than she herself was: She didn't pontificate to people (that's annoying no matter _who _does it), but she wasn't shy about standing up for her beliefs, and at the very least letting the world know _this is what I think._

Today, she was going to let the owner of The Pizza Dungeon know what she thought about Dino and his 'music.'

She threw the door open and got out, being careful to avoid ramming her knees into the wheel. The sun was high and hot in the sky, and sweat instantly sprang to her forehead. She swiped the back of her hand across and drew a deep, stagnant breath. She liked warm weather because being buried under layers of clothes felt unnatural - not what Mother Nature intended. Today she wore brown, thick-soled hiking boots, gray wool socks pulled high up her calves, a black and white checkered shirt tied around her waist, brown cargo shorts that reached nearly to her knees, and a simple white tank-top. All organic material, locally sourced, non-GMO.

Stepping over a broken beer bottle with Dino's smiling face on it _(Dino's Private Reserve - it'll get'cha turnt)_ she crossed to the double doors and went in, the smell of stale pizza, old urine, and disinfectant washing over her. If possible, it was even worse than it was earlier.

It was dim inside, and her sun dazzled eyes took a moment to adjust. To her right was the dining room, headed by a stage, and to her left was the ball pit and the order counter. She left with Lizy, Lean, and Leah, went home, changed, and came back almost immediately - _that's _how concerned she was with this matter.

Look, she didn't mind that rap music, or another music for that matter, existed, and she could even forgive sexist lyrics - whatever, just keep it away from me. She did _not, _however, like it being played where impressionable little girls could hear it and begin to think badly of themselves. Honey, there's nothing wrong with you, you're beautiful; you're not a ho or a thot, you matter and you have limitless potential. For her, it was personal - when she was little, her Dad used to play the occasional song that put women down, and it made her feel awful, like there was something wrong with her and she was a bad person. She didn't want other little girls to feel that way _ever_.

She also didn't like the _other _things he sang about; these kids looked up to him, so when they heard him talk about dealing drugs and killing people, they took it to heart and thought it was cool.

It wasn't.

At all.

Getting an education and a good job was cool, not slinging rock on the street and ending up dead or in jail. Dino had a responsibility to guide these kids on the right path, and he wasn't, which bothered her greatly.

She started for the counter just as funky early nineties rap beats struck up. Kids were gathered around the stage dancing wildly and imitating the gang signs Dino threw up. See?

Taking a deep, angry breath she walked up to the register where a pimply teen boy in a Pizza Dungeon uniform stood, head hung and shoulders slumped, putting Lora in mind of a downtrodden slave. She started to speak, but closed her mouth when Dino began singing.

_I met this bitch at a hip-hop disco_

_A club full of divas in San Francisco_

_I asked her name, the bitch said Shirley_

_I asked her for some pussy, she said "I like girlies."_

_"What that mean, hoe, that I can't have it?"_

_She said, "Nigga, recognize I'm a female faggot!"_

Lora's jaw dropped.. _Am I really hearing this? _ She threw a hateful glance over her shoulder: Dino bobbed his head back and forth as the kids lost their shit like feeding time at the zoo.

_You triflin'-ass bitches know that shit ain't right_

_Stinkin'-ass dyke, put some dick in your life_

_'Cause we know where the nose goes in the nymphos_

_Playin' with dildos and finger-fuckin' booty holes_

_Belly to belly, skin to skin_

_Fuckin' like hell, but ain't no dick goin' in_

Red faced and shaking with righteous indignation, Lora whipped her head around to the cashier. "Can I speak to the owner, please?" she asked sharply.

The boy stared at her impassively, then leaned forward and spoke into a microphone. "Abdul, you're needed at the front, Abdul." His voice filled the building, momentarily covering that awful fucking music. He drew back and favored her with all the humanity of a lamp. "He'll be right with you."

Lora sighed, turned, and crossed her arms. Dino did a front flip and landed perfectly on his feet, and the kids lost it. Look at him up there, strutting around like a cocksure rooster in a henhouse singing this...hateful, homophobic _garbage _to a bunch of kids. It made her so mad she trembled.

_I hate bulldaggin' hoes with a passion_

_You motherfuckin' right a nigga gay bashin'_

_You bitches need to get that gay shit off your mind_

_Suckin' 'em up, that's sick, I dick 'em down at night_

_Lickin' clits, suckin' titties, and playin' with kitties_

_And sophisticated dykes'll treat a nigga shitty_

_I can't understand how a bitch with class_

_Would have another hoe's name tattooed on her ass_

When the owner appeared at her left elbow, she spun and almost punched him - calm down, Lora, this isn't how you do things.

I know, I know, it just really upsets me, that's all.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a thick Arab accent. He was short and round, the collar of his button-up shirt undone to reveal a gold chain overgrown by bushy chest hair. A furry mustache crept across his upper lip like a fat caterpillar and gray clustered around his temples. Sweat sheened on his forehead, and Lora's nostrils pinched at his sour, unwashed smell. "What you want?"

Lora took a deep breath and centered herself. "I would like to lodge a complaint," she said evenly.

Abdul sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Look, if you find something in pizza, I pay, I no know what happen but I give you money to no say something. I can lose business for something, you no talk and I take care of you." He gestured expressively with his hands.

Uh...was he trying to _bribe _her? "It's not the pizza," she said with strained patience, then turned toward the stage, where Dino was just wrapping up his set. "It's _him_. His music is grossly inappropriate, it talks about violence and using drugs and disrespecting women, it's _very _offensive."

Abdul shrugged. "Kids love that music. I no like that music either. It, uh, it black people music. Black people scum of earth."

Lora gaped. "Excuse me?"

"How you say..,only good nigger, dead nigger."

Fury welled in Lora's chest like a blast of boiling water, and her fingers twitched spasmodically - she was so close to slapping him across his fat, racist face that the back of her neck prickled. One thing saved him, though: At that moment, Dino passed by, knees bent and shoulders back. Lora's eyes darted to him like crosshairs and her jaw clenched. "Man," Dino said, "all these bitches and hos."

That was it. Acting on pure instinct, she shoved Abdul aside and lunged at the mascot like her name was Jack Ruby. He turned just as she jammed her finger into his chest. "You are _disgusting_," she said through her teeth.

Dino looked her up and down, and even though his head was literally a giant mask, she could have sworn he sneered. "Bitch, I know you ain't talkin to _me _with yo Hillary Clinton lookin ass. Lookin like you just came from a hike up another woman's privates."

Lora blinked. What did he just say?

Sensing her shocked disbelief, Dino nodded. "Umhm. Bulldaggin' bitch. I was just singin about yo ass. Nasty ass, pussy eatin, rotten ass bitch."

Sudden rage detonated in Lora like a nuclear bomb, and before she knew what she was doing, she was throwing herself at him with a high pitched liberal battle cry. Her arm shot out and she caught him across the chin; his head whipped to one side and he lost his balance, dropping to his ass with a breathy _umf_. Someone gasped in shock, and a little boy cried out. Lora was deaf to it all - she was filled with burning, holy ire, her eyes wide and bulging and her teeth clenched, veins standing out on her neck. She lashed out with her foot and took Dino in the chest; he fell back against the floor and lay supine.

She straddled him and pulled her fist back. "You sexist bastard!" she shrieked, spittle flying from her lips.

Suddenly, she was being dragged off and flung aside by a screaming mob of children. Her anger turned to fear as they closed around her, and she caught a flash of ten, fifty, a thousand faces twisted in hatred - then they started kicking, and all she could do was curl up and try to protect her face. "That fucking bulldagger hurt Dino!" a little girl piped in outrage.

A foot slammed into her stomach, and the air left her lungs in a rush; another hit her in the back of the head, and stars burst across the backs of her eyelids.

"Break it up! Break it up!"

The kids screamed and fell back as three Pizza Dungeon employees holding batons and wearing helmets ran over. Lora watched through welling tears as they chased the kids back toward the stage - a little black boy picked up a slice of pizza and hurled it at one of the employees. Parents were rushing over now, crowding around and screaming obscenities at the stormtroopers. The color drained from Abdul's face, and Lora's heart started to pound in fear. Two more employees in riot gear came out and joined their comrades, one facing down the crowd and ordering them back. A man jumped forward, and the employee cracked the baton over his head.

_That _is when all hell broke loose. As one, the crowd surged forward, pushing the beleaguered employees back. Someone threw a chair, and it smashed through a plate glass window, shattering it. Lora, heart blasting, rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself to her feet, stumbling and throwing a frightened glance over her shoulder - the employees were being overrun: One hit a woman in the head, then was tackled by a man in a red T-shirt, and another punched a black guy in the nose only to have his legs speared out from under him by a fat white kid with no shirt on.

Something silver arched through the air and landed among the brawl, then a cloud of thick white smoke billowed up. Lora turned and started as a dozen more Pizza Dungeon employees rushed out of the back carrying shields and batons. The smoke reached her eyes, and they began to sting monstrously. She covered them with her hands and took a deep breath, sukcing in more of the smoke; her lungs caught fire and she coughed. "On the fucking ground!" someone yelled. Before Lora could comply, something hard crashed down on her shoulder and pain exploded in her skull; she dropped to her knees, snot rushing from her burning nose in rivulets.

Someone shoved her face to the floor and planted their knee into her back. "Get those fucking assholes back!" whoever it was cried. "Back!"

Lora coughed and her lungs heaved; spit and stomach bile shot from her lips and landed on the floor in a silvery ribbon. When her captor wrenched her arm behind her back, she moaned. Screams and tear gas clogged the air, and the wail of approaching sirens filled the day, swelling until they were an apocalyptic crescendo stabbing deep into her ears. "Get off me," she managed and tried to move.

"Stay still, bitch!"

"Get off me, you fucking fascist!"

A moment later, he took his knee out of her back, and a police officer wrenched her to her feet, then slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. Where they arresting her? "What are you doing?" she demanded.

Without a word, the cop spun her around and started marching her toward the door; her jaw dropped at what she saw: Broken chairs, overturned tables, smashed plates, cups, and food littered the floor. Two dozen bodies lie prone, hands on the backs of their heads as an army of cops put cuffs on them much the way they had Lora. Dino stood in a corner, his hands balled into fists; two cops approached him warily, one holding out his hand and saying something Lora couldn't hear. "Man, fuck y'all!" Dino screamed. "I didn't do a _goddamn _thing!" He took a threatening step forward, and the cops wrestled him to the ground,, one pushing his face against the floor and the other cuffing him.

Lora had seen documentaries on Nazi Germany, but she _never _thought she'd see Gestapo tactics firsthand - it both scared her and pissed her off at the same time.

Outside, cop cars were haphazardly parked in front of the building, their doors standing open and their lights flashing. A line of people sat along the curb, their heads hung and their hands cuffed behind their backs while a cop stood over them with a clipboard. The cop escorting her forced her to sit, then went back inside; smoke rolled through the door and disappeared into the air.

The absurdity of it all struck her then, and she laughed until she cried...then she just cried.

* * *

Lemy stepped out onto the porch, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply, the smoke pinching the back of his throat and filling his body with sweet, calming nicotine. They say that for every cigarette you smoke, God takes seven minutes off your life and gives it to Keith Richards. Maybe that's true - the guy was still kicking at almost 120, but barely. Lemy was thirty-three but some days he felt ninety-three, like now. Something about spending three hours in the emergency room with your wounded son and your restless daughter really drains you, ya know? They were home now, finally, but Lemy's day was far from over - he still needed to talk to Lester and keep Gwen from ripping the kid's head off.

Another day in the life.

Eh. All things considered, he loved where he was and he wouldn't trade it for a million dollars: He was part owner of an appliance repair shop that did well, he owned his own home, and his car got him where he needed to go. It wasn't much, but it was good enough for him. When you add the kids to the mix, and Gwen, and Loan, and Leia, and Lizy, it became _too _good, and he had to wonder why God saw fit to give him such a great family. Was it that old lady he helped across the street when he was ten? The little girl he gave his ice cream to when he was eleven because she dropped hers? The kitten he saved from being eaten by a giant Saint Bernard when he was twelve?

Well, whatever it was, he was so glad he did it, he'd go back in time to that moment, grab his younger self, and give him a big, wet kiss.

With tongue.

_Ew, brah, _he heard his ten year old incarnation saying, _gay_.

He took another puff and glanced at the house next door, his tiny grin falling into a frown. After getting Gavin settled in his room, Lemy went to Lester's door and knocked, but didn't get an answer, which told him the boy was at Dad's - he often went over to hang out with his mother. They ran experiments together. Or fucked. He didn't know; he didn't ask and Lester didn't tell.

It wasn't his business, and he was in no position to judge with all the shit he'd done over the years, but he wondered about those two. When they were in the same room together, Lester followed her like a shadow, and it was _Yes, mother; yes, mother; yes, mother _like Norman Bates in _Psycho_. His eyes never left her, and sometimes Lemy would catch him hunching over like he was trying to hide a boner. If the guy had the hots for his mom, whatever, that's fine, no worse than the girls doing Dad. Personally, Lemy had never once felt the desire to bang his own mother, but that was just him. That Norman Bates analogy, though...man, it was really apt, and sometimes he thought that maybe there _was _something wrong with Lester, beyond just being hostile.

He was just a kid, though, and he did have a rough time in school, so much so that Lisa bitched them into letting him take an advanced course to earn his diploma early, something that schools used to do but didn't anymore. Man, there were days he'd come home covered in dirt and grass from someone knocking him over, and the hurt in his eyes...it bothered the fuck out of Lemy. He didn't catch it anywhere near as bad as Lester did bully-wise, but he knew pain and isolation so intimately they let him fuck their wives, so he got what his brother was feeling. He tried to talk to him, you know, be friends with him, but Lester just wasn't a people person - he'd rather be by himself. Lemy could respect that, but he really wanted to be there for him, and you can't do that when someone's locked in their room 24/7.

Anyway, it wasn't a bad thing that Lester was over there: Lemy had to talk to Dad too, ya know, about what happened. _My wife's this close to killing your son, bro, maybe we can do a trade. Lana for Lester._

He was only half joking with that - he'd honestly considered it before, and right now he was considering it again. He didn't want his brother to feel like he was kicking him out, but it might be for the best, for him _and _everyone else.

Sighing, Lemy flicked the cigarette away, went down the stairs, and crossed the yard, his eyes going to the house, a narrow two story with white siding, blue plastic shutters flanking the windows, and a bright red door that reminded him of the house in the Freddy Krueger movies.

At the door, he knocked and shoved his hands into his pockets; a warm breeze sent wind chimes tinkling, and in the distance children's voices rose in either anger or delight, he couldn't tell which. Sounded like the former but maybe it was the latter, who knows? He knocked again and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Come on, I just wanna get this over with and go smoke a bowl.

Muffled footfalls approached, and the knob rattled as it was unlocked from the inside. Lemy took a step back as it opened and his sister-niece Luya filled the frame. Well, she didn't exactly _fill _it - she was thirteen and small for her age, born premature since, ya know, Lupa smoked during the pregnancy. Her hair was long and bottle black with a white skunk streak like the Bride of Frankenstein, and her brows were perpetually knitted in the most contrived case of resting bitch face he'd ever seen. She wore a black T-shirt with BLOOD ON THE DANCEFLOOR across the chest over a dark green and blue plaid button up, skinny jeans with rips in the knees and across the upper thighs, and pristine white Vans. She said she didn't give a shit, but the fact that her shoes were spotless determined _that _to be a lie.

Lemy's gaze went to her hand, resting on the knob - the cuff of her shirt was rolled back to reveal the sallow scratch marks she passed off as cutting. She only did it for attention, though - he knew that because her cuffs were _always _rolled up, and when she was talking to you, she'd occasionally dart her eyes to her wrists as if to say _hey, look at this, see? I'll take your pity now._

Being premature, low birth weight, childhood asthma (cleared up now), and the youngest, Dad doted on her, and she was the biggest fucking Daddy's girl you could ever hope to meet. She fronted like she was tough and crap like her mom, but with Lupa it wasn't an act, with Luya it was.

When it came to Dad, she was like Lester was with Lisa - when he was in the room, she was always looking at him, always touching him, coming in for random hugs that lasted too long, clinging to him just a little _too _tightly. Lemy had been with dozens of girls over the years, and if nothing else, he'd learned to tell when one was into a guy, and if she didn't give Dad steady and neverending bedroom eyes, he was the Queen of England.

Too bad for Luya Dad wouldn't touch her. _It ends with Gen 2, _Dad told him once. _Anything beyond that is too much even for me. _She tried and tried and tried to get Dad to do her, but he surprisingly stood firm. Sometimes when Lemy came over, she'd be in just her panties and a tank top, her nearly nonexistent breast nubs poking out and the dank smell of her arousal so thick he'd breath through his mouth, then taste her and gag. A few times, she came downstairs in a towel and it 'accidentally' slipped, revealing her pale, pancake flat ass and the V of her sex. Dad never so much as _looked _at her when she did that.

All of that might sound harsh, and you might get the impression that Lemy didn't like her. That wasn't true, she was his sister and he loved her, but by this point in his life, he was really fucking over this cultish devotion that she, Lucy, and Lupa had to Dad. It was creepy, it really was. Lemy had his own harem so he understood how they worked, but something about those three came off _wrong_. When you talked to them, it always had a way of going back to Dad no matter what. _Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln_. He didn't even talk to them much anymore because it just got so fucking old and he wanted to strangle them. Talk about something else, goddamn it.

Or maybe he was reading too much into it. He had a bad habit of doing that.

Presently, Luya stared at him with calculated indifference. "Hey," she said flatly, a gust of wind rustling her hair.

"Hey," he said, "is Les here?

"Yeah," she said, "he's with Lisa." She stepped aside, and Lemy went in, the warm smell of synthetic cotton candy washing over him. Luya shut the door, brushed past him, and dropped onto the couch. On TV, a shirtless man with vampire fangs swept a big breasted blonde into a zestful embrace, then bit her neck.

Luya grabbed her vape pen from the end table and took a long rip, letting it out in a dense white cloud. Ah, so that's what stinks. Luya vaped like a...can't say freight train...emo girl who vaped a lot. She constantly put Lemy down for smoking (_those things are bad for you_) and claimed that her juice had more nicotine than his cigarettes _but none of the rocket fuel_. Uh-huh, that's why that bottle I dug outta the trash said NICOTINE: Omg. He started for the stairs, but hesitated. "Is Dad around?"

"He's busy," Luya said, her lips twisting distastefully, "with Mom...and Grandma."

*Wince* He might go hard on her (in his thoughts, at least), but he did feel for her - he remembered when it was him being cucked left and right, sitting there watching someone else get love (and lovin') while wanting the same so bad it fucking ached, listening to them in the other room and wishing it was you, so turned on you couldn't think straight and no one to get you off, watching them on the other side of the couch, wondering why they didn't want _you_ and hating yourself and them too. It was misery. Maybe it was because he was older and a parent to young girls himself (whom he didn't touch and never fucking would), but he felt absolutely no attraction to Luya whatsoever. Even so, he'd hinted around in the past that he'd be willing to...ya know...if she wanted, but she wanted Dad and no one else, kind of how he was with Lyra only worse; at least when he pined for Lyra he'd have sex with other girls.

That made Luya's predicament worse than his.

Poor kid.

Shouldn't be such a Dad cultist, though. Not saying I wanna do you, but I will, and I'll do you like I do Gwen, Loan, Leia, and Lizy - love making. Blow your mind and make you cry tears of joy.

He snickered and how smug that sounded. It wasn't entirely untrue, though.

Anyway, if Dad was getting busy with Lupa and Lucy, he'd be indisposed most of the day - they liked taking their time, worshipping every square inch of his beginning-to-wrinkle middle aged body. Again, like cultists. _The log! The log! _Man, I'm so sick of hearing about the goddamn log I could scream. It's not Dad's fault, it gets on his nerves too, but some people are just, ya know, obsessed with his dick. In a weird way. Gwen and the others liked _his _dick, but they didn't sit there and fucking sniff it like a cigar or something - he knew for a fact that Lucy and Lupa did with Dad. *Shiver* Hey, I like the smell of pussy, but sitting there and waving its scent into my nose and moaning...miss me.

Kind of sick now, he went up the stairs and turned right at the top: Lisa's lad was at the end of a shadowy hall that always made him a little nervous - it was the kind of corridor you see in literally every horror movie, and as he walked up to the door, the back of his neck prickled. If a vampire or a killer doll rushed out and came at him, he would not be surprised...pants shittingly terrified but not surprised.

At the door, he knocked, his eyes flicking to the touch-screen keypad flanking the frame. You needed a card, a code, and to press your thumb against the glass to get in. As far as Lemy knew, Lisa gave Lester the code so that he could have full access to the lab when he needed it. To everyone else, it was a bigger secret than Area 51, and if you put your finger on the screen, it'd shock you.

Like that OmniBox shocked Gavin.

Sigh.

There are a thousand reasons for an electronic device to malfunction and zap you. Hell, it had happened so often to him over the years that his fingertips were calloused worse than his mother's. When he got home, he planned to look at the thing himself, but it was gone. Lester must have taken it to -

_Hide incriminating evidence?_

\- fix it.

When a crackling voice spoke next to him, he jumped and uttered a sharp cry of alarm. "_Yes?"_

He knew there was a speaker on the opposite side of the door from the keypad - hell, he installed it - but every time, every _single _time, it startled him. "It's me," he said into it, "Lemy. Is Les here?"

There was a moment of silence, then Lisa replied. "_Yes. Come in."_

The door automatically unlocked from the inside, and Lemy pushed it open, cold air and bright, blinding white light washing over him. Lisa's lab looked the way Lemy imagined the inside of a spaceship probing room did: White walls, white floor, chrome fixtures, a bank of computers and a crazy jumble of beakers, holders, test tubes, and a thousand other things he'd seen a billion times before but still couldn't name. Lisa sat at a computer, her back to Lemy; she wore a long white lab coat and her brown hair messy, uncombed because she had higher matters on her mind. Lester bent over her, one hand splayed on the edge of the table and the other clutching her shoulder: His back rapidly rose and fell as though he were panting...turned on...over the woman who gave birth to him.

Lemy grimaced, and the door slid shut behind him with a pneumatic whoosh.

"I was expecting you," Lisa said without turning; her head moved from side to side as she scanned the screen. "Lester tells me there was an accident and that Gavin was injured." She glanced at her son, and Lemy thought he saw her brow pinch in something like annoyance. "And that he is responsible." Her voice was a little tighter than normal, her tone a bit rougher.

Lester hung his head in shame. "Yes, mother. I was responsible." He sounded like a chastised child copping to breaking a window or stealing the pie out of the window. He drew a deep breath and turned to Lemy; the boy's eyes did not meet his, though that was normal, they never did. "I'm not exactly sure what went wrong. I believe I may have accidentally crossed the L-pont wire with the G-pont wire, thereby causing a build-up of current. I took it back to my lab after they left to work on it, but I-I decided to pay mother a visit instead, as I was quite affected."

Lemy nodded. That was an easy mistake to make - those two wires were identical and if you got mixed up, you could cross them like _that_. In fact, he'd done it himself..and shocked the piss out of his hand. Not as badly as Gavin, but he had a white, pus filled blister on his middle finger for a week.

Easy.

To do on accident.

_And _on purpose.

Lemy felt a surge of shame at that final thought. His brother stood before him, head hung and shoulders slumped in open contrition, and here he was thinking he _meant _to do it, letting himself get carried about by the perpetual witch hunt. In the 1360, you blamed the Jews for all your problems. In 2060, if your last name is Loud and you reside at 1216 Franklin Avenue, you blame Lester. He'd always stood up for his brother, always fought for him _because he needed a champion; _now he was flaking, and it made him feel like shit.

"I'm very sorry about this, I feel awful," Lester said haltingly, then looked up, his greasy bangs falling in front of his eyes. "What is his prognosis?"

Lisa was facing Lemy now, her face drawn expectantly and her arms crossed. "He's fine," Lemy said, "he's home and they gave him some painkillers. No...no lasting damage."

"Good," Lisa said, then looked at her son. "I expect you to be more cautious from now on and to take better care in your pursuits. To err is human, but you must be vigilant to protect against making errors as potentially harmful as the one you made this afternoon."

A look of misery crossed Lester's face and he hung his head. "Yes, Mother."

Lemy started to speak, but his phone went off, the opening riff of Cinnamon Girl by Neil Young. He had a special ringtone for all of his kids, and that was Lora's. He chose it because Neil Young was a huge liberal (Southern Man and Ohio...look 'em up) and he associated that with her; when she first got into politics he started calling her _my cinnamon girl._ He fished it out of his pocket, swiped his thumb across the screen, and put it to his ear. Lisa turned back to the computer and Lester did likewise; this time he kept his hands at his sides.

"Hey, hun, what's up?" Lemy asked.

Background noise - voices, phones ringing, and papers shuffling filled the line. When she spoke, her voice was uncharacteristically uncertain. "D-Dad?"

Being a parent, you develop a sixth sense when it comes to your kids, and Lemy knew in a heart-dropping instant that something was wrong. "What's the matter?" he asked.

More talking, more phones ringing - a vision came to him: His daughter lying in a hospital bed paralyzed from the waist down or something because some drunk driving piece of shit sideswiped her Pruis. "I-I need you to come get me," she stammered.

"Where? Are you okay?"

She didn't reply for a moment, and his stomach knotted.

"T-The police station."

Twenty minutes later, Lemy stood next to a desk in the middle of the Royal Woods PD squad room: Red and white checkered tile floor, desks, ceiling fans, cops as far as the eye could see, some in uniforms, many in plain clothes, working at computers and interviewing people busted at the Pizza Dungeon. Dino sat next to a desk across the room, his hands cuffed behind him and his head bowed. A fat detective in a button up shirt walked by with a doughnut in his hand and glanced at him, an evil smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Back again, huh, Dino?"

"Man, fuck you," Dino spat.

The detective laughed and shook his head.

Man, some things never change. Lemy remembered being in the very building twenty years ago for the same reason - that stupid fucking dinosaur. Dragon. Whatever he was supposed to be. He glanced at Lora, who sat in a chair flanking the desk, her head hung in shame and her bangs covering her blue eyes; when he walked up, she looked at him and they were muddled with tears. He put his hand on her shoulder now and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

A detective sat at the desk, working on a computer and sweating profusely, his fingers picking hesitantly across the keys. He wore a rumpled white shirt with narrow pinstripes, the cuffs rolled up his hairy forearms, and a shoulder rig; the handle of a revolver poked out from under his arm, and Lemy wondered if he could yank it out and use it on that fag Dino before being tackled. Probably not - he'd never touched a gun in his life and he'd probably wind up blowing his own foot off somehow.

Lora drew a deep breath and reached for her face with her right hand, forgetting that it was cuffed to a metal loop on the desk...like she was an animal. "Can you please take that thing off her wrist?" Lemy asked, his voice strained.

The detective's typing faltered. "In just a minute," he said, "I'm almost done, then you two can go."

Well, thank fuck for _that_.

In the chair, Lora rolled her neck. "I have to go to the bathroom," she said.

"You have to wait a minute," Lemy said.

She sighed. "I've _been _waiting."

"You should have thought about that before you started a riot at The Pizza Dungeon."

The detective snorted, and Lora shot Lemy a dirty look. He pinched her chin, and her scowl turned into a slight, reluctant smile that lit her eyes. "I didn't _mean _to," she said and turned away, her face pinching. "I actually feel really bad."

"Don't," Lemy said and glanced over his shoulder at Dino. "He deserved it."

The detective sighed and sat back, the chair creaking under his weight. "Alright, Ms. Loud, you are being released on your own recognizance. You will have a court date -" he grabbed a piece of paper from the printer and squinted. "Tuesday at 10 am." He leaned over and uncuffed her hand; she drew it away and rubbed her wrist. The detective flashed a smile. "Have a good day and please don't come back."

As they crossed to the double doors leading to the street, Lemy put his arm around his daughter's shoulders and drew her close. "A full scale riot," he said with an appreciative nod. "Pretty impressive."

Lora sighed. "Having a criminal record - not impressive."

They were outside now, a wide set of concrete stairs leading down to the sidewalk. Across Main, the Royal County courthouse kept eternal watch over town square, a Grecian building with marble columns and a spire that reached high into the heavens. "No," Lemy admitted, "it's not a good thing, and...I'm kind of disappointed."

No parent wants their child to have a rap sheet. He wasn't necessarily upset with what she did (no matter who was in that suit, Dino was a bastard and deserved to get punched in his face), but he was upset with the situation, you know?

"I know," she said dejectedly, "I let my temper get the best of me."

The car was parked at the curb behind a black and white police cruiser, and as they approached it, Lemy bowed his head. Lora _did_ have a temper - where she got it, he couldn't say. Loan could be...gruff, but she didn't _pop off _very often, and _he _was the most chill dude you'd ever wanna meet. Lora was sweet as pie most of the time, but she had a tendency to get really angry really quickly, kick or hit things, then come down really quickly and be ashamed of herself. She'd gotten good at controlling it over the years, but she was only human, and now and then she lost her grip.

"Yeah," Lemy said, "you did." He looked at her; she stared guiltily at her feet, the soft breeze rustling her bangs. In profile, she looked so much like her mother it was uncanny. "It happens, but you gotta keep a grip on it. You're gonna come across people who need an ass kicking in life, but you can't always give it to them. It's hard, I know, but if you beat up everyone who deserves it, you're gonna be busy doing nothing else." He rustled her hair, making her wince, and shoved her playfully away. "Plus, I can't afford to keep bailing you outta jail."

Lora laughed. "It won't happen again, I promise."

"I hope," he said. "Now get in the car, I wanna smoke a bowl."

Just then, a cop walked by and glanced at him; his heart sank and he flashed a sheepish smile. "Of tobacco."

The cop nodded and kept going.

Whew.

Almost wound up like my jai -

Lemy blinked, then grinned. Lora furrowed her brow. "I know that look," she said.

"Nothing," he said, "I just came up with a new nickname for you."

Lora rolled her eyes. "Oh, God, what."

"Jailbird."

"Don't call me that, please," she said.

"Okay," Lemy said and opened the passenger door. "I won't. Now come on, jailbird, I want that bowl."


End file.
